


The Meet Cute

by Below_Average_Fangirl



Series: The Butchers: A Love Affair [1]
Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, First Impressions, First Meetings, Meet-Cute, Second Chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24238918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Below_Average_Fangirl/pseuds/Below_Average_Fangirl
Summary: Beat up and semi-unconscious on the London underground is not a great first impression. Thankfully Billy Butcher might just get a second chance to make a great third impression.
Relationships: Becca Butcher/Billy Butcher
Series: The Butchers: A Love Affair [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749529
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	The Meet Cute

Resting his head against the plastic guard of the underground carriage, the open wound on his forehead smearing blood across the surface, as his body sways back and forth in time with the movement of the tube train. It may be early spring but 190 feet underground any heat is oppressive and that along with the alcohol and the mounting concussion is lulling him to sleep. He is aware of the stares from other passengers and their judgments, if he was more with it he would tell all those self-righteous fuckers to piss off but he barely has the strength to hold his head up, let alone hold onto his anger. As the train makes its way around a bend, Billy’s head lolls forward almost to his chest but is stopped when someone gently places a hand either side of his head.

“Sir. Can you hear me?” The voice is calm and kind but that doesn’t stop Billy making a half-hearted attempt to move away from the good samaritan.

“Ger off.” The protest lacks the usual Butcher growl and the person helping him is undeterred as they move a hand to rest under his chin, raising his head slightly. The scent of vanilla rouses his senses and he cracks open an eye to see a woman kneeling in front of him. As his left eye is swollen and can only squint through the right, to prevent his blood from dripping into it, he can just make out the faint outline of the woman in front of him. Brunette, slim and pretty.

“What ya doing?” Billy asks confused as she uses her free hand to rummage in her bag beside her.

“It’s okay,” The woman says softly as she brings a cloth of some kind to his forehead, “I'm just going to hold this here to stop the bleeding.” To keep his head in place the woman increases the grip on his chin as she puts pressure on the wound on his forehead, Billy closes his eyes.

“No, don’t do that. Look at me.”

Billy gives a half-smile. “Wish I could love,” he croaks, “but I can’t see much of anything.”

“Alright. But keep talking to me. What’s your name?” The lure of sleep is creeping over Billy again and as nice as it is to feel her hands on him, he wishes she would leave him alone. “Hey. You still with me?”

“Butcher.” He breaths.

“And the people who like you, what do they call you?”

If he were more with it he’d give a smartass remark but talking is an effort. “Billy.”

“Billy, we're getting to an overground station do you think you can stand so we can get off?”

“Don’t waste…”

“Here,” The woman removes her hand from his chin to take his hand and place it to the cloth she has against his forehead, “hold this and I will help you stand.”

Billy cracks open an eye, a soft smile on his face. "Bossy ain't ya."

The woman stands, picking up her handbag. "Yeah, well. Seems you need someone to keep you in line. Now, can you stand? You can lean on me if needed."

Using his free hand, Billy pushes himself up off the seat, groaning as he does so. Now on his feet, he sways a little but his good samaritan is quick to wrap an arm around his waist as her other hand rests on his chest, leaning into him to keep him steady. The scent of vanilla hits Billy again.

“Put your arm around my shoulder.” Billy complies, wishing he was more with it to flirt with his guardian angel. “Be sure to keep that hand where I can see it.”

Billy chuckles, he can hear the humour in her voice as she slowly guides him to the tube doors.

***

Billy woke to the familiar pungent smell of hospital disinfect invading his nostrils, scrunching his eyes at the bright light that was sipping through his closed eyelids. Slowly opening his eyes, squinting in an attempt to sharpen the blurred images before him he lifts his arms slightly and breathes a sigh of relief when he doesn’t hear the clinking of handcuffs against the bed frame. At least he's not under arrest. As he sits up in bed he winces at the movement, his ribs shore and head pounding as he takes in the blue and white colour scheme of the hospital curtain around the bed trying to remember how he ended up here. He'd been drinking in The Blind Beggar. Desperate for a drink but wishing to avoid any company when Jimmy Summers had come barging into the pub, shooting off that big fat mouth of his.

_"Butcher! You motherfucker."_

_Billy was used to being called out in a pub that he didn’t think much of this, he didn’t even look up from his drink. “Oh fuck off…” But before he could finish Jimmy Summers punched him in the back of the head. It wasn’t a clean hit, grazed him mostly, but it was enough to knock him off his stool. Those who had been sitting nearby grabbed their pints off the tables and stepped back. None of them stupid enough to intervene._

_“You lying piece of piss, Butcher.” Jimmy Summers screamed over Billy who was laid flat on his back on the beer-stained floor, before grabbing a glass off the table and smashing it over Billy’s head._

Which particular lie Jimmy Summers had been pissed off with Billy didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Looking at his hands he flexes them, there’s a dull ache around his knuckles and the sign of bruising and he smiles, pleased. At least it means he got in a few punches. But try as he might he cannot remember ever leaving the pub or how he ended up here. His headache intensifying, he shuts his eyes against the harsh hospital lighting only to open them again when he hears the rustle of the curtain a woman steps into the cubicle drawing the curtain closed behind her. She’s smartly dressed, professional-looking and gorgeous; smiles at him like she knows him. At her open shirt collar, he clocks a necklace with a small silver cross. He’s not in the mood for this right now.

“Listen, love. I’m not interested.”

“I’m sorry?”

“In the Lord our Savior. Repent for your sins, deal.”

The woman shakes her head. “Billy I’m not…”

“I know, I know you’re not here to judge me, you just want to help. Look I’ve heard it all before.”

She smiles nervously and steps closer to his bed. “You’re confused. I’m...”

“Look darlin' I ain't confused. I’m tired, achin’ all over and hungry. Now unless you got a bacon and egg roll in that overpriced handbag, I’m not interested in what you’re selling.” Billy sinks into the bed turning his back on the woman. “If you’re gonna leave any of those God pamphlets, make sure it's in the bin.”

There’s a moment of heavy silence before he hears the swoosh of the curtain and the sound of her heels as she walks away. The scent of vanilla lingers after her.

***

The nurse hands Billy a salmon pink polo shirt, the sort a fat banker wears golfing. His shirt was drenched in blood so he was given something from hospital donations to wear home. Thankfully he’d be walking out wearing his own trousers.

The doctor and nurse had made it abundantly clear that they were not okay with his self-discharge, that he was likely still suffering from a concussion and was at risk. Billy had just shrugged and they said nothing further but looked at him like disappointed middle-class parents, watching a favoured son pissing away a good education to become a comedian. The police, on the other hand, had looked at him and treated him as if he was nothing but a nuisance. And when he’d told them some bullshit story about being jumped on the way home, that he hadn't seen who'd done it and was unable to remember where it had happened, they breathed a quiet shy of relief. Told him finding his attacker would be difficult and left a card with a contact to call if he remembered anything. They no more wanted to deal with him than he did with them.

After being told once again by the discharge nurse not to drink alcohol for at least one week, Billy picked up the brown paper bag containing his bloodied shirt, stuffed his discharge papers into his pocket and ambled out of the hospital. Checking his wallet he realized he wouldn’t have enough money for a taxi and walking home was not going to be an option. He would have to take the tube.

***

Throwing himself down into a seat Billy rested his head against the dirty window, eyes closed. A headache building once again. The rhythmic back and forth of the carriage was lulling him to the edge of sleep but he was startled awake when he felt, or rather thought he felt, someone, touching his face. But when he sits up and looks up and down the carriage there is no one sitting near him. It’s 2 pm on a Thursday and the underground is quiet. Looking down he sees the brown paper bag has slipped from his grasp. Picking it up he opens it to take a quick look at his shirt to see how ruined it is but when he looks inside he sees a scarf sitting on top. A rather expensive looking silk scarf, covered in blood. Billy is utterly perplexed as to why there is a silk scarf in his possession covered in his blood. Taking it out of the bag he rubs the corner of it between his finger and thumb to feel it’s softness. The feeling of it makes him bring a hand to his forehead to lightly touch the dressing over his wound. His mind is trying to grab at something, at an image that won’t hold still.

Lifting the scarf to his face there is a lingering scent of vanilla and he remembers the woman from the hospital, the do-gooder and the scent of her perfume as she left. As his mind turns over his body sways back and forth with the movement of the train. As the light begins to change, the train coming to an overground station, the fog in his mind clears and he remembers a woman her soft touch and kind voice as she took her scarf and used it to stop the bleeding from his forehead and the smell of vanilla and he realizes the woman in the hospital, the one he essential told to fuck off, was his good samaritan from the train.

“You stupid fucking cunt, Butcher.” Rubbing an exasperated hand over his face he screams out in frustration and the few people on the train with him look away.

That utterly gorgeous goddess had not only hulked his dumb, beaten up arse off the train, but she’d also taken him to a hospital and had come back to see how he was doing and he’d treated her like shit.

Feeling like the stupid arse he was, he searches his pockets in desperation for his discharge papers to see if the hospital noted anything down when admitting him. Even though he doesn’t believe in second chances. As he looks through the paperwork, there in glorious black and white is a name and a phone number. Looking up to the heavens Billy grins. “Thank you. You big bearded twat.”

***

Billy had chosen a table which had a good eye line on the door of the bar, so he would see her as soon as she arrived. A small white box was sitting on the table beside his elbow. He looked once more at his watch, 6.05 pm, five minutes past the agreed meeting time. Not the end of the world, he told himself, she was meeting him from work, after all, Friday night rush hour and all that. He takes a sip of his water to try and calm his nerves. He wasn’t going to drink alcohol tonight as he needed to be on his best behaviour to seize upon this chance to make a good third impression. As he checks his watch again he hears the door to the bar open and looking up he sees enter. Taking a moment to drink in the sight of her he gives a silent prayer to the God he doesn’t believe in. Rising from his seat and in a soft voice, that even Billy hasn’t heard from himself in a long time, he calls her name. “Rebecca.”

Rebecca turns at the sound of her name, giving him a small and purely polite smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. Billy knows that she is here because he was apologetic on the phone for how he treated her at the hospital “You know. Concussion and all that.” And he’d wanted to apologise and thank her in person. 

Walking towards the table she holds her hand to him. “Mr Butcher.”

Billy takes her hand.“Please. Call me Billy.” 

Letting go of his hand Rebecca sits and all Billy can do is look at her utterly dumbfounded. It is only when Rebecca looks at him expectantly that he remembers himself. “Can I get you a drink?”

“Yes. I’ll have a glass of the most expensive white wine on the menu.” She smiles with a sense of put-upon politeness. “Please.”

Billy gives a full and genuine grin that makes his green eyes sparkle at her forthrightness. “Abso-fucking-lutley.” He says before heading to the bar.

As the bartender prepares his drinks order he looks over at Rebecca who is watching him, clearly checking him out. He smiles to himself. All may not be lost, he hopes.

Billy returns to the table and Rebecca takes her drink from him before he sits opposite her. Billy is dumbstruck again at not only how gorgeous the woman in front of him is, but the fact that she agreed to meet him.

“So…” But before he can try and lay on any charm Rebecca interrupts.

“Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

“I do. Thank you for taking pity on me on the tube. I…”

“No. Not that. Do you know how lucky you are that I didn’t hang up in the first five seconds of your call.”

Billy looks down at the table, embarrassed then back at Rebecca. “Yes. Yes, I do. And I want to apologise,” Gently he pushes the white box across the table towards her. Picking it up Rebecca looks at him suspiciously as she opens the box but when she sees what is inside, for the first time, a genuine smile graces her features that makes Billy’s chest tighten and his breath catch in his throat. She is so beautiful he thinks, “I tried to find one exactly like the one I ruined but,” Billy pauses as Rebecca takes the scarf out of the box to look at it, “Is it alright?”

“It’s gorgeous.”

“You shouldn’t have wasted something so expensive on my useless...

“You,” Rebecca interrupts him before he can finish, “had blood gushing from your forehead. What else was I to do? “ She takes a sip of wine. “You’re going to have quite the scar.”

Billy brings his fingertips to the gauze covering the wound. “First beating I’ve ever been grateful for.”

“And your last.”

With that single sentence. Billy knows that he would do anything this angel of mercy asked of him.

***

Billy holds the door open for Rebecca and she smiles her thanks. Stepping away from the doorway they look at each other expectantly.

"Can I see you again?"

Rebecca smiles coyly "What. Like a date?" She moves closer to the curb, looking to hail a taxi.

"Yeah. Like a date."

Seeing her wave a taxi pulls up alongside. Opening the door Rebecca turns to Billy. "Don't you think I can do better than dating a guy I found semi-unconscious on the underground."

Billy shrugs. "Well sure. A gorgeous woman like you could have any guy you wanted. But then why did you spend the last 2 hours with me?"

Rebecca looks him up and down. "Tell you what. I'll take the night to sleep on it. If I don't call you by 8 am you know my answer and you won’t contact me again. Deal."

Billy smiles as he takes a step closer to Rebecca, if she’s intimidated by him she doesn’t show it. Reaching out he moves her hair aside, placing his hand on the back of her neck as he leans in and kisses her.

He can taste the wine on her lips and when she runs a hand through his hair he deepens the kiss, Rebecca moans in response, a hand resting on his chest and when they pull apart, Rebecca's breathing is short and sharp, her face flushed.

“Deal." He whispers. "If you think you can wait that long.” 

Rebecca pushes him away, smiling. “You’re raking up my meter.” She says as she gracefully slides into the taxi.

Billy steps back and closes the door. As the taxi pulls away he slowly counts to three before looking towards it. Rebecca is looking through the rear window at him. He smiles. He can wait till 8 am.

The next morning Rebecca does call. But not till 8.30 am. She’d wanted to know if he’d keep his word, making him sweat a little was a bonus.


End file.
